


Two women in bed

by a_different_equation



Series: A Different Equation [4]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, Zarah - Wilde Jahre
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Backstory, Canon Queer Character, Case Fic, Character Study, Epic Friendship, F/F, Feminist Themes, Femslash, Friends With Benefits, Friendship/Love, Introspection, Queer Themes, Relationship(s), Strong Female Characters, modern women, vintage lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: It's not an untold love story.It's two friends having fun.They're Phryne & Mac, two modern women.





	1. What A Woman Wants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annalouise_vintage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalouise_vintage/gifts), [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> Hi, hallo & welcome to "Two Women in bed", another installement of my "a different equation"-series. 
> 
> Originally, it only should be a sort-of missing scene from the season 1 finale. You know, the kiss between Phryne & Mac, while they were dancing at the birthday party,... And here we are: from kiss, to dancing, to taking photographs (while Mac is wearing her suit and Phryne is getting undressed...), to... sex. 
> 
> And now, this particular OS, which truly only should have been some 1k story, turns out to be such a beast, that I have to split it in chapters. Everything is plotted, I will post ASAP (I plan three chapters, but I won't make any predictions anymore...).
> 
> Fair warning: This is not your shy-away femslash story. Read the tags. Check the rating. 
> 
> Have fun :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the twilight, sometime between night and dawn, Mac and Phryne fuck. They are both grown-ups, have known each other almost all their lives, and it’s hardly the first time, so they call it by its name: fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Welcome to the newest part of my Phrnye & Mac series. You don't have to read the other parts to understand 'Two Women in Bed' (however, of course, I would be delighted to meet new and old readers!).
> 
> This multi-chapter fic is an exploration of the unique relationship between Phrnye and Mac; however, this part of the series focus with multiple flashbacks on Mac's past. Which means: in 'Two Women in Bed' will give the modern queer woman - at last - the spotlight.
> 
> Lastly, the rating is for a reason: this is not a shy-away femslash series. 
> 
> Happy reading!

“Should you not get something a little extra when it is your birthday?” Phryne asks Mac with a smirk.

“I think that I heard about this custom before...” Mac plays along. Her eyes are alight with glee, when she adds, “And I guess you have your very own present already here, am I correct, Miss Fisher?”

“You know me too well, Doc.”

Phryne makes a gesture not unlike the ones she used to make in the old days, when she was fascinated by the circus and they were still carefree; back, when Jane had been still alive. Today, Phryne presents a grown-up spectacle with a toy that entertains adults only, and her performance is not only an invitation but a seduction too.

“Tada. The percussion. I take that you are familiar with that certain instrument, Doctor?”

“You mean, professionally...or?”

“Privately ...intimately.”

“Intimately, I see. I have to admit that I familiar with it in both aspects. I hope that I have not shocked you, Miss Fisher?”

“Shocked, no. Intrigued, Miss Macmillan. And I hope that I will not shock you when I...”

“Fuck you with it?”

“That might be on tonight’s agenda. However, doctor, there is a thing that I have not tried before...”

“Never tried before, aha, now that is a sentence that you not hear that often in Miss Fisher’s boudoir.”

“Oh, shut it, won’t you, Mac! You’re ruining it.”

“I am so sorry...”

“You’re not.”

“Of course not, why would I? You know me for almost half a century. And you want people who give you contra, and in particular in bed. Yes, you do, oh Miss Honourable Fisher. And because I know you, I doubt that there is something you have not tried...”

“I want to fuck you with it... “

Before Mac could comment that, they have done this multiple times already over the years, Phryne rushes to add while her voice isdropping low:

“...in the arse.”

When Mac seems to be speechless which is a rather unusual sight, her best friend ponders on:

“...if you’re up to, that is.”

When Mac still does not react, Phryne starts to babble:

“You do not have to. We do not have to. It is just, it was a suggestion. I only had this very versatile lover; he was a dancer, not relevant, what I want to say is it can be _nice_. And I know you for decades now, and I might not know everything about you, but I am female detective. I cannot help to make some observations and deductions. And you remember when we had this talk first? Back in university when we lived in the room that was smaller than my wardrobe today? Anyway, you said that everyone has different preferences and desires and... You said that you were different. I mean, it could have been your way of telling me that you are interested in women. Which is fine. It is all fine. I am not saying that women who are like this want _this_ either _._ Probably not, even those many, most probably want or say that they want not such things. However, we are not such women, Mac. We are both a different equation, are we not... and...”

“Yes.”

“Yes...?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what...”

“Don’t make me say it, Phryne.”

“Oh, don’t get shy on me now, Mac.”

“Phryne...”

“Mac...”

“...”

Elizabeth Macmillan averts the fixed glare of her best friend. Her cheeks are flushed. Her body screams from her internal battle: to fight or to fly. Or, more to run away and hide, wherever that might be because Phryne would seek her out, or to drag her best friend to bed and take her up the offer. Preferably, without having to say anything. Phryne is having none of that.

“I remember that you said talk was essential. Consent, was it not?”

Phryne drops her voice even a pitch lower, stressing every syllable:

“So, dear Mac, will you consent to let me fuck your _lovely_ arse with this instrument?”

Mac’s first instinct is to nod. Or, something that can be interpreted as a nod because the doctor only moves her head minimal. It is more her eyes that speak volumes: even still slightly averted, they are dilated. In the moonlight, they look otherworldly. Huge, blown wide. The flush from her cheeks has spread further over her skin. Her breathing has picked up; arrhythmic and loud does it soud in the silence of the room. Both women do not stand far away from each other. It would be easy to reach out and draw out a reaction in one way or another.

However, just like with “Take a photo” and “Dance with me” hours prior, Phryne can only offer.

 

* * *

 

FLASHBACK

Mac and Phryne were sharing a room at the university. Two small beds, a desk that was overflow by Mac’s books and a wardrobe that was mostly stuffed with Phryne’s clothes and toiletries.

It was messy, but it was theirs.

There was a wooden floor with one loose board, which was the perfect spot to hide alcohol. When years down the road, they will enjoy a good drink, medical or not, it will be born out of those nights. There were many nights of shared stories and alcohol in the dim candle light; mostly a whispered conversation, disrupted by some giggles. When Phryne got too loud, Mac shushed her with a slap or a stern look that Phryne retorted with rolled eyes or an extended tongue.

Back then, at the turn of the century, _fin de siècle_ , Phryne did not know that Mac prefers women as bed companion exclusively. Not that it mattered back then or today. Anyway, not the point, the point is that back then Phryne had heard about that it might be better when two women do _it_. Phryne had had her share of male lover already and sometimes she had imagined that it would be easier when one or two of them had been women. Therefore, she demanded a reason when Mac called it a misconception. Other people might believe Mac’s word without questioning; following her orders; look the other way, but Phryne, Phryne Fisher was her equal. She wanted to know.

Mac, always direct, never shying away from a challenge, had answered:

“So you want the same thing in bed like your aunt Prudence?”

“What? I beg your pardon?”

“Aunt Prudence. Or, your mother? Or, our old English teacher from grammar school? And they all fuck like me, too.”

Mac helped herself with alcohol while mumbling something that sounded like “which is highly unlikely for numerous reasons”, and gulped down a considerable amount of Whiskey before she answered Phryne once more:

“It would mean that every woman wants the same. It would even mean that every women knows what she wants, can express her desire and fulfil them. Which I doubt is the case. The truth is women do not want the same because they are not the same. All women are different – they only share one aspect: they are not equal to men. This fact has nothing to do with sex but with gender. A gender inequality I hope one day will be gone. I definitely plan to do my role into this battle, and so are you, even in another role, Phryne.

All women, all people in fact, are different. Just like the answer about favourite colours and dishes, music and books, differ so are their preferences, desires and stimuli in bed. I know what you are going to say, Phryne, that there are groups who share interest. Some like Charleston, there are the ones who love a hearty ham & mash, and there are few who dislike the colour blue. However, consider: Do you know of a person who is identical? All preferences the same?

As a soon-to-be doctor, I know that scholars and the general audience want to argue with the existence of twins. We are only at the beginning of modern medicine, modern science, Phryne. Therefore, I can only extrapolate and hope that one day there will be studies about this phenomenon, and they will come to the right conclusion that even people who seem so identical, the same sex, the same parents, same features, do not share everything. That even they, twins, are a different equation.”

“So, what you’re saying is: sex is shit when you forget that everyone is different.”

“Yes, extremely simplified...”

“And let me guess: Talking helps?”

“Yes, of course, further...”

“And experience would help too but then the gender equality –that’s how you call it, right – would play into again. As society treats the sexual experience of women and men different. Men can do whatever they want, women should marry and bare children, and god forbid, they are not a virgin and have a lover. Women in this room excluded, of course.”

And with this, Phryne hold out her own glass with amber liquid and clicked it against Mac’s glass. She stage-whispered:

“To be not Aunt Prudence”

They both instantly burst into laughter. Like they had used to do as young girls when Aunt Prudence had caught them doing something “inappropriate” or “not lady-like” or “improper”, and had made “tsk” and had sent a stern look, and the minute she had left them, they had giggled, high-pitched and carefree.

Now in the old room, when they calmed down, Mac mumbled:

“You’re weird, Phryne Fisher.”

Her voice was warm, fond and a bit in awe.

“And different”, Phryne had added.

There would be many other nights after, some with talk, some without words, and some with dance, some with the other kind of dance.

“We fucked, Mac. No reason to go shy on me now. Do you think they have decent coffee in this establishment?”

This particular event occurred in the months leading up to The Great War. Everybody had a bucket list back then, or something. 

END OF FLASHBACK

tbc


	2. It gets gayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback in this chapter is partly inspired by the German TV mini series "ZARAH" (D, 2017). It is not essential for the plot to know about the TV show. 
> 
> Basically, it's a story about a openly queer woman called Zarah Wolf, who starts a new job as a journalist for one of Germany's biggest newspapers. Because of its setting (1970s), you can easily imagine that a modern woman like Zarah has to fight with sexism (and homophobia). Good for her, she has the daughter of the newspaper's owner at her side, Jenny. And when you're thinking: sounds gay. Yep, 100%. 
> 
> If you happen to like canon queer feminists, good storytelling with lots and lots of literature, media, culture and politic references, open-minded (seriously, this show is nothing for minors!), go google & watch it. Highly recommended.
> 
> Anyway: Happy reading!

“Fuck.”

“That good...” comments Phryne, a bit smug.

All Mac can do is letting out a small moan in answer; she lost her ability to speak in full sentence around the time Phryne began to tease her arse in earnest. Now, all her best friend is able to do, it seems, is to grind on the expansive sheets.

Mac is lying on her front; Phryne cannot see her face but she is sure it is flushed red like the rest of the dear doctor’s skin. It clashes wonderfully with her hair. The hair that is now all messy – loose, open and free – like the rest of her body.

When a woman led her hair down, it is an intimate thing. Even now, in the 1920s, the Great War over for some years, it is still considered _private_. With the _zeitgeist_ , the corsets slowly are disappearing, while more women wearing trousers appearing; new haircuts and fewer bonnets for women to be spot in public; women in suits, not to blend in but to stand out. It is sometimes the unremarkable things like letting your hair down that remind you how long you walked with chains.

Therefore, Phryne had Mac let strip herself. _Oh_ , she enjoys a show but she knows that Mac is her own woman. She is her own commander; she sets the pace and the pieces that come undone, and Phryne led her be. Phryne knows Mac long enough to be aware of the fact that clothes are Mac’s battledress. For many, it might sound ironic; after all, a suit like Mac prefers to wear them since she started out as a doctor, as her own woman, seem the opposite of a dress. However, Phryne knows that there are more reasons to dress up (or down) and more battles to fight than those in the frontlines of The Great War.

Therefore, Phryne simply watched how layer after layer vanished. That with every piece removed from her body, she got back into her own skin. _Oh_ , Phryne knows that Mac makes her little dance before the mirror in the mornings; the tad to the left and the tad to the right; something resembling Charleston; but it is not out of joy but out of necessity.

When they dance, when they strip, when they fuck, they do it because they choose it. It might be in the twilight, away from prying eyes and ears, behind closed doors and drawn down curtains, but it is theirs and theirs only.

Phryne did not lie when she told Mac that it was a first for her. Sure, there were the one or two adventurous lovers who had fucked her good, but the other way round, never. She had watched two men doing it, and damn that had been very good, but afterwards they were so fucked out that she even had to bring herself off. Good, they had gone done on her before, but a second or third orgasm had been nice.

Anyway, Phryne has never done _it_.

And fuck, is she glad that she can share another first with Mac.

 

* * *

 

FLASHBACK

 

“I want to be with you, so much”, Mac whispered in the silence of the bedroom.

It was in the early hours of the day; the city still mostly asleep. When Mac had wake up minutes prior, she needed a second to register that yes, this all was real. She was in her bedroom, in her apartment, in the city she lived for years now; and next to her, there was she, Jenny, laying on her back, the sheets careless draped over her body, and Mac did not need to look to know that she was as nude as her. This morning was as real as last night had been; and Mac was overwhelmed.

Jenny who reminds Mac all too much of her best friend Phryne Fisher. The now Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher who will be on her way back to her mother country by now, back to England, leaving Australia and Mac behind, and who knowa if they will ever see each other again? Mac had meet Jenny in one of the many bars in Melbourne. Not in one of those bars, mind you, but in one Bohemians frequented. Jenny was an aspiring artist; she had invited Mac to one of her performances (“But I should warn you, they are _inspiring_...”). That is how she met her, actually, she, the young, more carefree girl called Jenny who's hair colour even remind Mac of Phryne.

And the next words could be uttered by her best friend too.

“You can, we can”, Jenny assured Mac, as always with the confidence in her voice that even surpass Mac’s (but never Phryne's). Not unlike Phrnye (or, the Phryne Mac made up in her head), Jenny pondered on: “We are not wrong; the others are.”

Mac had been so caught up in her own feelings, memories, thoughts, of last night, of all the other days that lay behind them, of everything and anything that it had went unnoticed to her that Jenny had woken up and attempted to continue where they had stopped hours before. Out of a sudden, at least from Mac’s tilted on the axes perspective, not only words reached her ear but although a warm breath. A warm breath that was followed by warm lips seconds later; lips that first nibbled than bit than kissed her ear. Then, even bolder, as if the message was not clear enough, attacked Mac’s neck. One-second fast movements, one second _terrible_ slow, but always near and _closer closer closer_ still.

Mac’s breathing picked up; she was only a woman.

“When the others found out what you did to me...”, and before Mac could react, defend herself, act someway, she concluded, Jenny’s voice dropping low, “and what I want to do to you...”

 _Oh_ , she was a wicked woman! She knew how to play people, how to play their bodies; _oh_ , the oldest song in history! Before there were even the fingers, touching, teasing, mapping out and rediscover undiscovered country before last night, Mac’s mind had provided a picture. Mac might be only a doctor but as such, she knew the human body intimately. She might not be an artist and she had not the money for purchasing a photograph – and it would be far too dangerous to produce one anyway – but she could imagine all too well, how they look: they, two women in bed.

END OF FLASHBACK

tbc

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Kudos, comments & constructive critism is ALWAYS appreciated. 
> 
> If you're interested in writing updates, queer literature & cinema, and, MFFM (obviously ;)), you might be follow me here: www.a-different-equation.tumblr.com


	3. T'ain't no sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is Coming Out Day. What better way than to celebrate this day with another chapter of our modern women?!
> 
> Chapter title from the 1929 jazz classic "'T' ain't no sin" by Lee Morse.

Mac feels the fingers teasing inside her.

Phryne has started slowly, one by one. She is surprisingly good at it but it is Phryne, so maybe it should be expected. Even when Phryne claims to have never done explicitly that, she still has very able fingers.

Mac hasn't comment on it.

Mac knew how to position herself; she knew how to relax her muscles; she knew how the percussion sounds; and if Phryne did not know how to use her fingers properly, Mac would have instructed her. Without blushing; without stammering; without hesitation.

Phryne is a lady detective. Surely, she could deduce enough from this. However, as she is Mac's best friend, she does not comment on this either.

Minutes later, Mac is pushed on her elbows. When she is able, she not only throws her head back in ecstasy but also tries to get a glimpse of her best friend behind her. Most times, all she can is to sense the body behind her, even it gets more and more impossible, because all her senses are centred around the one point on her body. The one point in which Phryne and her are somewhat joint, as long as the act lasts, and which proves again and again that it is indeed the most sensitive point of the human body.

It takes all her willpower, to let herself not fall into the mattress. She has observed it over years, the play of the muscles, loose and taunt, always changing. In her professional field, her colleagues only use examples from hard work or sportive activities like soccer to illustrate the play of the muscles in the human body, but Mac knows – just as her colleagues probably know in their private lives – that it is the same mechanism at work when it is for pleasure. Come to think about it, maybe they do not.

Somehow, Phryne’s hand has found its way in her hair. Normally, Mac hates it. Her hair is a rarely let down. Only in her bedroom, in the morning and in the evenings, and mostly when it is not too hot or too cold, she lets it down. She has thought about cutting it countless time, it is fashionable and a sign of a modern woman, as Phryne proves.

However, Mac is not Phryne.

She cannot really explain it but sometimes she craves it and relishes in her very own role play. After all, no one would expect a woman with long hair to go to bed with another woman; if it is two women in bed, one of them surely has short hair. After all, that is how you spot such women, do you not? Oh, how Mac loves to play with _cliché_.

Mac will admit that she would love to play a bit more at the moment. Not only hands in her hair and a sex toy in her arse, but a female body on top of her. Oh, definitely not in missionary position! Because Phryne and Mac, they never aimed to be proper. That ship has sailed long before they first fucked more than two decades ago. Yet, all she will get tonight is Phryne close to her but no body contact besides her two clever hands, one in her hair, and one at her arse. It is far more than society would be imagine to be possible but it is not the limit what Mac knows is possible and sometimes craves. However, she knows what she has and it is good.

It is good to hear the heavy breathing of them; to smell the air changing; to feel the sweat running down their bodies. It is a misconception that good sex is loud. An orgasm is a quiet thing. There is a reason why you call it _la petite mort_ , little death. Mac simply breathes out, her mouth open, her head too heavy to be lift up on its own, and goes down.

 

* * *

FLASHBACK

Mac had found out about it in her later teenage years.

She had discovered a book, one of _those_ books, and had indulged in the secrecy of her bedchamber. There is some truth about hiding in plain side: her parents never questioned the well-read book among her others. She was a diligent reader! She was a diligent pupil! She was very throughout with her private studies. She had tried it out what she read and what she saw. Oh, yes, there were very imaginative pictures! _Oh, là là_. Only once, she had said to herself in the beginning. She was a curious girl. Maybe she would tell Phryne about it later. Gush about that she had done something that Phryne surly never dared. It seemed wicked! _Yet, maybe Phryne had tried it out before her; she was hardly innocent, who knew?_

Mac later wondered why she decided to experiment on her own. It was the first time she did not shared all with her best friend. Because Mac would explore this sexual act more and more in the years to come – without once mentioning it to Phryne. It was not that Mac was ashamed – even society certainly expected her to be. She was not shy out of a sudden or prudish. It was simply a private thing but not in the common sense – it was hers only. She did not share _it_ with Phryne because she did not want to share. In addition, when she did share it with women who were _not_ Phrnye, when she replaced her fingers with others and lend the toy she had ordered for medical purposes (she is a doctor, after all! Her job had to have some benefits!) to trusting female bed companions, Phryne would have left Australia and her already.

Mac could remember exactly how she came into possession of the book.

It had been the old bookstore in the part of town Phryne used to call home. In this peculiar bookstore, there was the one book shelf, the one hidden in plain side, in between books about sports and the section about modern phenomena. One step to the left and one could learn about how to play the game for adults-only. One step to the right and you could learn about the newest fashion from Paris, the one to wear or not to wear in your boudoir. And among all those little books, well-worn and cheap looking even their price tag was surely high, among all those little books that were never bought over the table, there were one or two about things that never ever exist in the first place, or so society and church say. One of those books found its way into Mac’s hand, than into her bag, and then into her bedchamber.

The bookstore owner would come to her as patient years down the road. He was dying of cancer. He knew before he entered the hospital. He also would know that Mac had nicked the book out of the store so many years ago. It was not like the man, maybe ten years her senior, ever explicitly said so.

Some things, most things, Mac muses these days, go unsaid.

 

END OF FLASHBACK

 

 tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Kudos, comment or constructive critism is ALWAYS welcome.


	4. Morning Has Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after: the beginning of something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A complete chapter in "present" day (aka the night of MFMM' season 1 episode). 
> 
> The next chapter was too long already, so I decided to split it up. However, it means that the little cliff hanger at the end of this chapter will be resolved soon. 
> 
> Happy reading!

When Mac comes down from orgasm, there is a naked body behind her. She is lying on her side. If someone would look on them from above, they would see two women in a bed, fucked out.

The blankets beneath her are sweaty and damp; thank god, they are women otherwise they would be sticky and glued to them too. Mac knows that she only needs to lift up her body a bit and roll over to get at least to a more dry spot, but even moving one inch, one muscle, seems to much, no, not even open up her mouth and order Phryne to do it, is too much of a hassle.

Phryne is behind her, Mac can feel the warmth radiating from her body. She is unusual quiet but maybe she is as worn out as Mac. Mac closes her eyes and drifts off. Something is on her mind but sleep overruns. The events of the last hours take finally a toll on her. It is warm, it is quiet, she is not alone in bed; Mac sleeps.

* * *

 

There is the smell of coffee. Dark and rich. There is the clatter of some porcelain; a plate? There is the touch of a hand. Soft and familiar. Even Mac’s mind comes slowly online and registers that smell, noise and touch are most unusual for her regular morning, Mac is not alarmed. There is a peace and quietness.

The hand is a bit firmer now; in the beginning, it was more like a caress of a lover, followed by the petting of a luxurious but lazy cat; now, it might be minutes or hours later, it is the friend who wakes you up with intent: _get up, it’s morning, sleepy head_.

The last one – sleepy head – might be actually uttered aloud. However, Mac is still too deep; she cannot recall the last time, she was that relaxed.

Most days, she is on high alert. Her muscles are drawn tight. Even when she spent some time in a Turkish Bath – and then, 10 out of 10 times dragged along by Phryne – she is scolded for waited so long but the effect, as nice as it might be, never lasted long.

The easiest way to let go, Mac has learned over the years, is alcohol or sex. Sadly, Mac is doctor enough that alcohol is only medical to a certain degree. Further, Mac is sadly more than aware of that sex as a woman, and in particular when it comes to a woman with her tastes, is even more dangerous than alcohol. Oh, not because of the criminal aspect – Mac is not an idiot while law is an arse in that regard and an idiot – but because of its addictive character. If she had to choose between a fine whiskey or a good fuck, Mac would have not to think a second.

So, when was Mac last so relaxed? Jenny, Mac muses. The one and only night so many years ago, shortly after Phryne had left for England. Now, Phryne is not only back in Australia but also back in Mac’s bed (or Mac back in Phryne’s, not that it ever mattered).

This is the reason why she is so relaxed, Mac realizes. Sure, Phryne had been back for quite some time now. 

Mac can remember all too vividly when she had picked up her best friend on the pier. She, Phryne, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, with all her luggage and her winning grin. They had been different women after so long apart but – as ever – change was inevitable when being best friends with Phryne: how long had it taken her to come up with her new profession? A day? Then her new house, oh, Dot, of course, and her new family of choice. Then cases after cases; there had been new adventures for all of them. She had Daisy and Phryne had Jack, more or less, as it was and always will with the two of them.

And it had been the two of them, two friends, two modern women, in bed, overnight, a different equation.

And yet, Mac cannot help but wonder, will it last. This night, or the next, or will Phryne leave again. 

This is why Mac realizes why she is so relaxed: not because of what occured last night. Two women in bed, that is hardly unusual for Mac. She had shared a bed, platonic or otherwise (not romantic, never romantic! Always sex, never love.), many times with her best friend. When one only counted the years and not the times, it is certainly Mac's longest relationship (certainly not partnership, never that, not even one talk about that.). 

No, Mac is relaxed because it is not evening, night or dawn anymore; it's a new morning. 

Mac is not sure what Phryne wants most days, and she is not sure if Phryne wants it either; in the nights, like the night that lay behind them, it is easy; Phryne leads and Mac follows. Sure, Phryne might be offering and sure, Mac could decline, but Phryne knows Mac, and she would always choose a good fuck over a fine drink, and most nights, Phryne even offers both.

Now, however, on this new morning, Mac knows that it is different. Maybe not now, _now_ , but it will be in the future. Mac is not Phryne, never has, never will. They are a different equation, sure, but they are not identical people. They are both modern women but not all women want the same. 

“You will go.”

A voice belongs to Phryne but does not sound like her best friend at all. It is timid, more a whisper.

A whisper like in their younger days, when they shared secrets in the dark, but now with a depth and meaning that had not been there back then. Back then, it had been about stories overheard from the grown-ups, or plans for the weekend, sounding even better and better with every passing minute, even they both know that they do not even had the money for the circus, or the rant about some scolding from a teacher or Aunt Prudence that was simply unfair but to raise the voice would be unwise, so Phryne talked and Mac listened. Mac shared some stories, of course, there was no person in the whole world she told more than her best friend was, but even at a young age, and we are talking about schoolchildren, Mac kept things to her.

However, Phryne, eventually, always found out. Like Phryne had learned about Daisy, like she did today, only today, almost the same second as Mac, not like the big secret with more than three decades delay, today, it might have been three minutes, three minutes during which Mac had made a decision.

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos, comment and constructive critism is ALWAYS appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: www.a-different-equation.tumblr.com


	5. Lady Bird, Or: Three Lesbians in a Gay Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward: This chapter takes place AFTER the end of season 3 of "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries". Phryne has left Australia (and Mac) for England (again). However, a person from her past, makes another appearance.

FLASH FORWARD

 

Mac runs into her by sheer accident.

It is on her way to work. Mac has been in a hurry; she is late; the last thing she needs is another delay. Then Mac runs into her. It has been years since she has seen Jenny the last time. Ten, 15 years, Mac guesses. However, Mac recognizes her in a second. Moreover, so does Jenny. Jenny is the first to start smiling, wide and open.

“Mac!” she says, and Mac hears her delight and joy, overlapped by the wish to shout my name as she has used to when they both had been younger.

_Oh, it was her, Jenny, no shadow of a doubt!_

“What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same!”

“But I was faster, so...”

Jenny's eyes are full of life, mischief and laughter, not unlike during their first and only night. The night so many years ago, during which Jenny proposed to be secret lovers (“We could be together, behind closed doors, would that not be romantic?”) and Mac recoiled (“That is not romantic, it is degrading.”). It has been on her mind, that dialogue more than the sex, for years. Mac has replayed the few hours over and over, and quite often she has chided herself in retrospect for letting her go. It could have been a start for something new, something stable. However, as Mac learns now, her chance has passed: Jenny has a female companion now, her very own lady friend, Zarah. Mac does not ask if they are only lovers behind closed doors, she has learned more than one lesson since her twenties. Okay, she does not but she is willing to make an exception for Jenny. For Jenny, she can even smile and be happy for her. Therefore, when Jenny invites her for the evening, in the same Jazz bar with mixed clientele that used to meet all those years ago, to which you can still only grant entrance with the password "Ladybird", Mac accepts.

* * *

Over the run of the day, Mac is in a frenzy state of mind.

It is not like her to be distracted so easily and to be lost in thought and memories. She dearly hopes that her patients, her students and her colleagues have not caught on it.  During lunch break she walks briskly to the park nearby to catch a breath of fresh air (or as fresh as you can get it in a metropolis during midday). The aimless pacing through the greenery does her good and she as a medical person knows about the benefits of a change of scenery. If this unusual outing had drawn some raised eyebrows by the staff, Mac has not realized.

When she rushes home, leaving the hospital on time for once, she is chiding herself. There is no valid reason, nothing logical about her inner turmoil. She had left Jenny years ago; sure, sneaking out like that after a night spending together was not the finest thing to do, but Jenny’s reaction of running into her this morning showed no hard feelings. Moreover, if Jenny has a change of heart with being angry, Mac has earned it.

_So what is it?_

When Mac stands in front of her mirror, trying out some outfits and feeling like Phryne Fisher and not like herself, it becomes all clear to her: its company and comfort. It is excitement. Mac got so used to hiding in plain side that she forgot what if feels like to be herself. For her, day in, day out, its two worlds that never ever collide: the modern woman at day and the modern woman at night. While modern means something elementary different in both equations. Even at night, when all can hide in the darkness because all seems the same, when she is surrounded by people who should be like her, they mostly only share one aspect. The life at day that is her life without the one aspect that makes her Mac instead of Elizabeth. Her friends at night, they call her Mac. Phryne who called her “Mac” first – without hesitation, no further question asked – who lives somewhere in-between. Phryne is a creature of day and night as well, but she is not Mac either. Even Phryne is still a different equation.

Phryne who probably does not even expects how different, how truly queer, Mac is. Mac certainly had never told her it. Some days, she wonders why she hesitates. Some days, she calls herself an idiot because it is so obvious. Some days, she is angry because Phryne is her best friend and why has she not deduced it herself. They are both middle-aged women, knowing each other for almost all their lives, and sometimes Mac wonders if the truth will ever come out. If it will, it will certainly not on her part.

It had been easier with Jenny. And this is the key to the frenzy state of mind Mac is in today. With Jenny, she had mentioned it at one of their “dates”. Jenny who had go out with men too. Who had been curious however, open-minded, carefree. When Jenny had asked why someone like her does not have fiancé, a husband, or at least a boyfriend while saying that someone looking so hot could certainly have everyone, Mac had kissed her and simply said afterwards: “That’s why.”

That is why: it is simple, easy.

With Jenny, it had been easy, and hopefully, it will remain like that (without being like _that_ ) tonight too.

Seriously, Mac is close to giving herself a pep talk when she makes her way to the bar.

She walks again. It is early, around eight in the evening.

Mac hates public transport. Whenever she can, she avoids it. Crowded places, lots of noises and smells, tedious talk and delays for whatever reasons, that all was not even her liking before the war happened. Her students follow her orders, her colleagues do not even try chitchat with her, and her patients are silent unless they have very good reasons and then Mac is a good doctor and so hopefully, screaming and the like stop soon and afterwards, the patients are even more impressed/ grateful/ embarrassed and they remained silent. It is not that Mac does not enjoy company from time to time, oh, she loves witty commentaries and banter, _but who understands her humour? Who can really contribute something sensible and interesting to a conversation?_ Most days, she can only suffer it with the help of alcohol or sarcastic replies or both. To remain silent herself, nah, that is not her.

For transportation an own car might have been ideal. To escape the city from time to time, to be independent in her mobility, to drive as fast as she likes when no one is watching. Mac likes cars, she likes woman in cars, and, oh, how she likes women who can drive cars fast (and if they can, do other things fast too, oh, even better!). Sadly, her bank account does not allow her an own car and she can only indulge in her own pleasure in some proportion (after all, women who are race drivers are rare and there is only so much a modern woman like Mac can do without raising to many eyebrows).

A taxi is expensive but manageable, however, a male driver who has a problem with women who know more about cars then them, not so much (not to mention the ones who are drunk behind the wheels or worse). Tonight, at the wee hours, a taxi will be it, but now, a walk is it.

* * *

Mac is early but Jenny and Zarah beat her by some minutes. Mac can only imagine that Zarah had a hand in it because the Jenny Mac remembers was constantly too late. Maybe it was the aspiring artist, maybe it was the only child of a wealthy business man, maybe it was simply Jenny Olsen. However, just like the old days, one charming smile and all is forgotten. Or, now, any potential akwardness. Jenny's charm - it had been her most powerful weapon. She had been younger than Phryne but she had been like a younger version of her; more carefree, more carming, more cunning. Now, in the light of the street lamps, the years are more evident than in the morning sun. Mac who had only met Jenny in the twilight, after sundown and before sunrise, can now spot the difference: here is a woman that has settled down. A woman who had found her place in the world and a person to share her life with. The younger version had been restless, always searching, experimenting and intriguing, now, there was still excitement and a thrill and yes, some stir of queerness, shimmering below the surface but she was more at ease.

A state, Mac is not sure she will ever reach. A state, Phryne, back then and now, never aimed for. It suits Jenny, and for a split second, Mac envies her.

Then, she tries a smile herself.

* * *

They get their drinks and find a table in the back of the room. The Jazz band is playing already but it will take another hour or so until the theatregoers hit the bar. Mostly, the guests have a _peculiar_ taste. Sometimes even some member of the crew or even rarer of the cast mingle; then, Mac can remember it too vividly, it gets extra hot in here. After all, this is how she had met Jenny all those years ago.

And maybe it had been the same with Zarah, who knows. Zarah, a woman some years older than Jenny, even not as old as Mac, works in one of Melbourne’s leading magazines. It is a man’s world, but Mac is convinced already after the first introduction and small talk that Zarah is a force of nature. Unlike Mac, Zarah wears dresses, feminine and fashionable. It is an interesting combination: a modern woman in women’s attire. The red dress she wears clashes with her ginger hair. Oh, yes, Zarah is a redhead too, even her hair is open and if Mac would guess, hats are not her style. No, this is a woman who might share character traits with Mac but loves to pretend to fit in... Only to stab society in their back when they assume that they are safe. Mac likes her immediately.

And Jenny likes her even more; if Mac would be more of a romantic (or a romantic, full stop), she would describe her as besotted. It's quite fascinating, even slightly alienating, to see Jenny like this: one minute the girl she used to know, the next a woman who stept into her place. Now, it seems, it was time for the twenty-something once again who nudges her foot against Mac's ankle to get her attention.

“So, what happened to the girl? I thought you would bring her with you, to be honest.”

“What girl? There was no girl?”

“Mac, don’t take me stupid. I am not that young girl anymore. You do not tell me her name; you do not have to do it now. I only ask: what did you do?”

Mac is stunned. Of all the things that could be on tonight’s agenda, it had never once occurred to her that Jenny had want to talk about her. Her, Phryne Fisher, her best friend. Mac has to gulp down a good amount of her drunk before she can answer Jenny’s question.

“She came back.”

“To you...”

“No. To Australia.”

“So, there was someone. I knew it!”

Jenny does not seem hurt, giddier; she has not changed a bit.

“See. Second chance! It’s a sign, Mac!”

“What a sign is that? She came home, only to leave again. And told a man to go after her?”

“Did she ever tell you?”

“No.”

“Maybe she simply knew that you would follow her.”

And this is why Mac knew that it would never have last with Jenny: that girl/ woman truly believed in fairy tales and happily ever after, probably in soulmates and true love, too. Mac had never believed in such things and as long as she lived (and she was middle-aged now), life has proven her correct. People like Jenny however, who does not even need her pigtail anymore, were a different sort all together. (A pigtail with ribbons! White satin ribbons! Mac can still picture them. White satin ribbons in her dark brown hair. She had carelessly led her hair down when they had go to bed. One swift motion as if it did not matter. And maybe for people like Jenny, the "normal" rules did not apply. People like Jenny,... or Phryne.)

Zarah interrupts Mac's train of thought: “Maybe she knows that you don’t need instructions. You are woman enough to do it.”

And before Mac can reply or ask for clarification because she might only know Zarah for all of 20 minutes but she can estimate already that Zarah is a woman who's mental faculties matches her own. Come to think about it, there might be fields Zarah might be the expert. Apparently, she spent some time in London like Phryne too. America, even, a continent that Mac wishes to travel to someday but is not very confident that she will ever make the voyage. She is not afraid of flying or the long time on board of a ship, but the funds might be a problem. However, as her reputation as an excellent physican raises, maybe, one day, she will be lucky and get an invitation for a conference abroad. Times are changing, and the continent is still more open-minded about female medical personal. Mac would not call herself lucky but a confident and capable woman.

And all the while Mac reasons with herself in an inner monologue, Jenny and Zarah are apparently not letting down the subject of the Mysterious Miss Fisher. Especially, Jenny, no surprise here, pushes the fairytale ending:

“What she wants to say: Maybe your Phryne knew that you would follow her anyway.”

Before Mac can retort something harsh because it is certainly not an untold love story, Zarah interrupts her girlfriend: “Or, that you’re a coward.”

Mac is stunned for a second; Jenny is forming her lips for something that might be her name; but Zarah ponders own: “Men come and go. You, you two, you are going to last. Women like us, we’re born for this.”

And because Mac has clearly enough of this, she asks bluntly: “For what?”

And oh, how revealing the immediate answers of the two lovers:

“To fight.”

“To be found.”

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Sailing on a sunbeam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our three lesbians are still in the gay bar called "Lady Bird" in Melbourne. They talk life, sex and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the 1920s song "Sailing on a sunbeam" that was used on "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries". Actually, it's exactly the song that plays when Phryne and Mac kiss at Phryne's birthday party (season 1 finale). Basically, it's a story about a person being happy and that nothing can change it because tomorrow is their wedding day. 
> 
> Originally, it might be a woman singing about waiting for his husband; however, in 2017, Australia voted "YES" for gay marriage. Only weeks before this historical decision, Germany legalized gay marriage too. (We're not starting the discussion why it took them so f*cking long. Or, how many countries in 2018 are still having f*cking problems with accepting that queer rights are human rights. Or, that in both countries, the queer rights - while now having gay marriage and better adoption rights - still have a very long way to go.)
> 
> Long story short - and it's a f*cking long story; seriously, do know your own (queer) history! - I thought it fitting to reframe it for queer things :) After all, my complete story/ series is queer!Phryne & queer!Mac. 
> 
> Lastly, all opinion mentioned in the following chapter or in the complete series might not be my own. I use "queer" as an umbrella. For me, it's a good thing that we leave - hopefully - the boxes and labels behind in the 21st century. Call yourself by your own name. Be yourself, everyone else already exists, as Oscar Wilde prominently once said.

It has been some hours or minutes later since Zarah and Jenny asked about Phryne. Mac cannot tell. She is just grateful that it was over. She had excused herself to the lady rooms; it might not be her normal habit to flee the scene but there is a first time for everything and all that jazz. When she had come back, both women had smiled at her and a new round of drinks had appeared on the table.

Mac can accept a peace offering from time to time; after all, she had accepted an apology by Aunt Prudence when she had suspended her temporary from the medical board. Oh, and yes, it still puts a smile on Mac’s face when she remembers it. It was certainly the only funny aspect of the horrible episode.

Before she is sad in memory of Daisy again – and she is not remotely ready to share this piece of information with the women yet – she decides to turn tables and ask about them. Mac is not the one for small talk but she used to be a friend of Jenny and she hopes to gain two new/old ones after tonight, so she can make an exception. Moreover, who knows, they might surprise her. Therefore, she starts with the standard question:

"How have you two met?"

Apparently, that is a good question because both women smile even wider. Oh, and yes, when Mac looks at Jenny now she can see why she reminded her of Phryne all those years ago: she looks positively wicked. No surprise here, that Jenny reminiscence:

"My father wanted an image change for his magazine. You know that he owns one of Australia's leading magazines, yes. He wanted to gain new readers; you know that The Great War opened new ways for women. So, he wanted a female voice for that new generation."

"So, he hired Zarah?"

"Yes and no."

Both women smirk. Apparently, there is a twist. Mac is not sure if she should be surprised or not. Those two women come with multiple layers.

"Dad hired Zarah but I asked him too. I told him that she is the perfect fit as she was an already quite prominent figure in women's rights and had published books and one memoir about gender issues."

"And this sphinx forgot to mention that to me. I thought for weeks that I was her father's prestige project while..."

"I set it up as a way to get into her bed. Which, of course, I never told my daddy."

"At least, I was informed at last."

"You cannot kiss and don't tell."

Both Mac and Zarah look at her alarmed. Jenny rushes to clarify; but oh, Mac can identify the teasing tone all too well:

"Not like that. I neither told my dad about our one-night stand not about your relationship. I just do not want to lie to you after I fell in love in you. You can bend the truth for a time but when you want something more serious, trust is the key."

The word 'trust' Jenny emphases, Mac senses a story there but she would not go there if they were not willing. 'Trust', after all, like 'truth' is a nebulous thing; even more when talking about modern women like them.

"And I was right, it worked out great: the numbers rise constantly, and when I will overtake the magazine one day, it will be more a voice for modern generations than ever. Zarah rocked the boat quite some time; and in particular, the men were not pleased. However, time told over and over again, that I was right, or she was, or we both were: We were born for this."

"For this?"

"Yes, we have been tested, but we won't back down. No, we will never surrender. Not you, not I, not Mac, we are all born for this. And we two, we are going to last. You are going to write, I am going publish, and together, we will change the world by pen and paper. Oh, we do know about the battle that awaits us, repeatedly, but we are ready. There is nothing we cannot handle, together, my love."

Mac excuses herself again; she might be mumbling something about getting new drinks or wanting to step outside for a minute to get a breath of fresh air; but it is not as if Jenny and Zarah listen to her anyway. There was fire and determination in Jenny's voice. She was as loyal and romantic as she used to be when Mac first met her; however, there was now a woman who was - metaphorically speaking - lit by a candle, burning bright. Before, decades earlier, there had been the promise of a modern woman; now, Mac can sense that Jenny pushed the label further. Unlike Mac who some days questions if it all makes sense and is worth in the end, Jenny is convinced to be born for this. 

And when Mac makes her way away from the two lovers she realizes that she has made another error: not only had she mistaken Jenny for another Phryne Fisher, but also had assumed that getting maybe a second chance with her, the real or the stand-in, would open up a new future. However, as today's conversation has proofed: Jenny had changed because she had met Zarah.

Long before Jenny had asked her to her, "inspiring" performance in this exact club in Melbourne, Mac had always assumed that Phryne was the driving force.

For the first in forever, Mac begins to question that.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, it is close to midnight.

Somehow, with minutes ticking by, while the rest of the club turn to shameless flirting and/ or dancing that was more seducing than anything else, the alcohol floating and the music roaring some Jazz tunes that seem to scream 'being alive', Jenny, Zarah and her conversation had got more serious.

Mac is not exactly sure how it happened.

Further, she is not sure that she cares.

It is what it is, and what it is, is good.

Sure, there are the people who claim that a club is not the ideal venue to talk about such matters. That meeting here is for entertainment only. However, what often is overlooked is that there are people who do not only end up in bed together but built a relationship. After all, where else can queer people meet? There are no many spots these days. It gets better, at least in the bigger cities, but there is a long road ahead. It is not that queer people do not exist, they always have, but to be visible and to see that you are not the only one, that is a new development. One that needs to be pushed further and further still.

Mac is woman enough to know that it takes courage to “simply” go to a club and dance all night. It might seem such an easy thing to do: a tad to the left, a tad to the right. There is no harm in singing, to listening to the music, to drink and to flirt. Or, so you might think. You do not need a medical degree or any university education to realise that it is sadly not true. The opposite might be in fact: that it takes courage to be visible. To be out and proud, to know who you are, and to say: “I am what I am”, that is a powerful but also fucking terrifying thing.

When you come to such clubs, let it be the Ladybird or some other venues, you already are brave. To enjoy you while knowing that most people would call it a sin is that not an act of rebellion and bravery. To stand up what is right that is never an easy thing. It is far easier to draw lines; to label things and people; and yes, to go even so far and to draw them in the already tiny boxes of “queer”. Mac knows it all too well; the queer activist and the one who want to fit in, the queer ones with their traditional role models, or the queer people who are called names because they show how different they are. The queers who are women, the queer who are men, and the queer people who cannot stand the term “queer”. And everything and anything in between.

And if society is not discriminating them, the queer community fight not only their battles but ever so often went against themselves. Why do you have to be so open about it – whatever it is, woman, human or queer rights – that question which is more an accusation had followed Mac over and over again. And probably, if she would be another minority or have another cultural, social or religious background, she would hear something similar.

Mac does not know why she is thinking about all of this out of a sudden.

She is a critical mind; she is certainly terrible modern for many; and oh, she knows what people say about her behind her back and sometimes, when they dare (and often with tempers flying high and even more often alcohol involved) to her face, but like this?

It is like a shift, and Mac needs go back long down memory lane to draw up something similar: the discovery of sexual acts in the book by the old man. The one who later came to her as a patient dying of cancer. It was in her youth, in the last century; oh, and does that sound like a lifetime ago? It was not the acts per se, but what they stand for. The representation, the visibility; that out of sudden, a curtain had been raised.

And this feeling, of a curtain been raised, or, if Mac had been the dramatic sort (and only a tiny voice in her mind whispers, like Phryne Fisher), she would have said: 'The stage set. We are ready to begin.'

But what?

Back then, in the 19th century, Mac knew what began: the long journey of self-discovery.

She had a label to call herself and she had a mission, or more (because she is Mac, not Phryne or Zarah) a plan.

Now, however, she knew that something was set into motion once again.

That something important had transpired in those few hours.

That something had irreversible had shifted.

 

* * *

 

Jenny’s voice brings Mac back to the present. Both lovers sit even closer; and Mac would take a bet (and is sure that she would win; and, yes, she is a gambling woman from time to time. A modern woman needs more than the 'English vice' and alcohol to get through the days) and say that they hold hands under the table. Mac cannot help the smile that forms on her face. Those two women... and what are they are on about now.

Mac shakes herself out of her reverie and pays attention.

"My darling girl has the idea that there should be something like an equal marriage. That all people should be able to marry who they love and who they intend to share their life with; not only men and women but also man and man, and, woman and woman."

"And to raise children, you forgot that, Jenny."

"No, I did not forget it, you ridiculous woman! I only wanted not to shock Mac even more."

"Oh, I am not easily shocked..."

"But this did it. Yes, my girl has sometimes radical ideas."

"Ph."

"But I still love her."

"See. You love me, and I love you. Where is the harm in it? We do not take away something for anyone. We are committed to each other. I want to love you openly, where's the problem? We are not the problem."

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Don't come up with all the endearments. You only call me 'sweetheart' to pacify me. It is serious. And do not come up with at least it is better for women than for men. There is no competition who suffers the most for love. The perverse thing is that we have to suffer for love in the first place. We have heartbreak, we have good times and bad times, we share rooms, you call me 'sweetheart' to pacify me. Oh, and I could raise children that they would be actually capable of possessing an own opinion."

"And to be loved."

"Of course. How could I not love our children? How could I not love our family? How could I not love you?"

 

END OF FLASH FORWARD

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. If I could turn back time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mac met Daisy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> In this chapter (and following) we will meet Daisy, the girlfriend of Mac who was sadly killed in "Death by Miss Adventure" in season 1 of "MFMM". However, I thought it would be quite lovely to write about how they met and fell in love. After all, that's the most important part, right? That they lived & loved. Further, this part of my femslash series aims to explore queer love & life in all aspects; and "lost love", that's part of (our) life too. 
> 
> Before starting the Mac & Daisy- story, two notes to (head)canon: As we know from the Kerry Greenwood book series, Mac originally studied medicine in Edinburgh (like ACD himself, btw!). Therefore, Phryne and Mac could not studied together; and as Scotland a part of UK, she has set foot on British soil in canon. Further, I don't know about Mac's parents, IF there is a mention of them in the books, I have forgotten (shame on me!). I played a bit canon (TV, book and game); the same goes btw for "Zarah - Wilde Jahre"; but I wanted to mirror Phryne and Mac a tad more. And to defend myself: the TV adaptation altered the appearance of Mac a bit too (pepper-salt hair to red dyed etc.); so, I can take my liberties too, right?! ;) 
> 
> And yes, for the timeline, we're pre-TV-series. However, it's the factory, we'll see in "Death by Miss Adventure" which is btw an original story aka NOT based on Kerry Greenwood's book series.
> 
> Happy Reading!

FLASHBACK

 

The heat was unbearable.

The noise was unbearable.

The smell was unbearable.

 

Those and many more thoughts went through Mac’s head while she inspected the halls of the factory for the first time. She knew that the factory owner was an arse and she expected nothing good for his employees but the reality was far worse.

Australia was hot and dry during the season; here, with the engines and machines running for hours without breaks, it was like an oven. There suppose to be a system, at least more windows, but what Mac had gathered already from the owner was that more security and overall better work condition were expensive and therefore not his priority.

Mac knew that she should not be here. Her only job was to look after the owner, not to care for his employees. When they got ill, they would go and see a doctor, high likely far too late, and surely at the risk of being fired because they would not be at their works station. The owner however, for him, Mac has to come every day like clockwork to get him his medicine. Every day, she gets insulted. However, she knows that she is far better off than all the others are. It is fifteen minutes in hell, but it is better than a fifteen hours shift here.

Sure, her colleagues at the hospital are not the nicest; but she is capable and useful. In the hospital, she can help people who need her. Good people. Hard working people. People who have families and loved ones. Women who were mistreated; children who were or felt lost. Mac does not have this: her own family or, at least, a loved one. She has no one she can call her own, or someone who calls her by her own name or creates her own endearment for her. She is all by herself, and if she would be more into Shakespeare and has a tad of drama like her best friend Phryne, she would quote him: “I am myself alone”.

Mac is not like Phryne who lost family members by alcohol, crime and war; she started out alone from day one. She never had Aunt Prudence who chides her for acting non-ladylike. Of course, she never had lost a sister to a murderer too. Mac knew her birthday and her name were not altered from Psyche to Phryne because her father was a barely functional alcoholic. Or, more accurately, he could be an alcoholic but Mac would never know. She is an orphan, or her parents abandon her, and actually, where is the difference anyway? They were never there, Mac is alive, and that is all that matters in the end.

Some days, in particular, when Phryne got all obsessed with Murdoch and Jane’s murder, Mac had wondered why she never ended up as fierce as her best friend did. Phryne had taken it all with a heavy heart. Oh, she remembered the songs she used to sing with Jane, but it was more nostalgia and even more determination and fury. Oh, yes, Phryne was furious. She was fierce. She was fire and Mac knew when Murdoch would ever come out of prison or even a hint of a release, Phryne would come to Australia and will not stop until he was hanged for good. Mac knew that Phryne would not come back to Australia for her or for herself.

 

Phryne only seemed on the surface to be all by herself and a woman of her own means.

It is the story for the audience, and maybe, there are days on which Phryne believes it too.

Mac, however, always knew better, but she never corrects her.

 

Phryne lives nowadays a half-life, a gift by her sister, or so she sees it. Further, there is the heritage by her family from England, the one is visiting at the moment; and, oh, Mac would laugh out loud and call Phryne an idiot if it would help her best friend to see the truth, because she is not visiting or settling down either; it’s another half-life, another half-truth, another story that Mac never will correct either.

When, or if, Phryne will come back to Australia, she will have another new name, The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. She will have Aunt Prudence again. Money to spend on a new house and new staff, and because Phryne is Phryne, certainly more lovers than one can count, so her bed will never be lonely. Who knows? Maybe she will pick up more misfits, create her own family of choice once more? After all, because Mac is not an idiot, that is how she met Phryne in the first place. Maybe there will be another orphan girl who needs a home and a future and new hope.

 

Oh, and Mac is not jealous, never was, never will.

Because it is, what it is.

This is who they are.

 

The one who feels lost and the one who is lonely,

the one who is lost and the one who feels lonely,

two women who only society might consider a lost cause

but have found each other decades ago.

 

Anyway, and with this Mac rails herself in because she might have the mental capacity to psychoanalyse herself, and yes, she will admit that the new medical field is truly fascinating (and terribly misogynistic) but there is work to be done and she cannot be distracted.

 

And...

then Mac sees

her.

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> And once again: questions, comments, constructive critism,- very welcome! Kudos are love.


	8. A Cup of Tea, my dear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a sip of tea, luv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello & welcome!
> 
> As today is Virgina Woolf's birthday, I tried to update my story. Fyi, we're still at the time when Mac meets Daisy. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Normally, Mac is not the one for tea.

She prefers alcohol or strong, black coffee. On some days, she says jokingly that she has drank far too much tea already for a lifetime during her medical studies in Edinburgh. Tea; that drink Mac identifies with Aunt Prudence, and no, that is so not her cup of tea. When Aunt Prudence had tried to make a proper lady out of her (and Phryne, of course, even on the surface, she was far more successful with her niece) in her youth, there were the non-negotiable teatime ceremonies. How to hold a cup, the endless debate whether or not milk should added be first, what biscuits were suitable, etc. etc. etc... Whenever Mac remembers it, she instantly wishes for scotch.

Now, however, everything has changed.

And all happened in that instant, when Mac saw Daisy standing in the middle of the factory, watching her.

At their first meeting, Daisy raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Mac smiled because she instantly knew, she knew, that the gesture was Daisy and it was Daisy she would loved and would always love. Oh, it was like meeting Phryne all over again, but it was still Daisy and no one else.

Mac had waited.

Then as Mac had been about to go to her, Daisy had saw her, had seemed to stare at her incredulously a moment while Mac had watched the slow smile growing, before her arm had lifted suddenly, her hand had waved a quick, eager greeting that Mac had never seen before. Daisy had walked toward her.

And had done so ever since.

 

* * *

 

Now, every day, for teatime, they meet.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”, and oh, how much does Mac want a cup.

A cup that can be shared with Daisy; at day and at night.

Their regular tea, and their special blend.

Now, Mac loves tea.

 

* * *

 

Daisy is a young woman – compared to Mac – even the society thinks her older as she is an unmarried woman in her late 20s. Society might suspect that she is unmarried because of her social status; after all, as a worker in a factory, she does not have many prospects. However, as Mac learns bit by bit – and how Mac loves this; it’s been ages since she has last done this particular dance – Daisy is unmarried by choice. Daisy is sweet and gentle; a bit shy; and so lovely. Mac knows that she is utterly besotted – and it is wonderful.

It is so fascinating to see the cracks in the panzer. That Daisy has calloused fingers from labour can be so... exciting. Mac mixes normally only with working class for work; as a doctor she aims to be professional; all her touches are medical examinations, all follow protocol; there is nothing indecent and improper. Mac has made the Hippocratic Oath – and she follows it (mostly). Now, however, it is like discovering a new country. It is an all-new sensation to feel hands on bare skin that can tell a story. Of course, perfume and lotion can tell a story too, but it is fabricated. Scars and marks are real.

When they kissed goodnight in bed – oh, and it is so new and so exciting; and it’s not a one-off like it was with Jenny; and not like the many others that led to anything and everything with Phryne – Mac felt their sudden release, that leap of response in both of them, as if their bodies were of some materials which put together inevitably created desire.

Whenever Mac see Daisy – some fleeting minutes, stolen ones, in plain sight, among her co-workers in the steaming heat of the factory – it is like, Mac does not know what it is like. It is as if Mac never saw anything at all before. Mac remembers all the girls before Daisy and they are like nothing – they are like dust. Even Jenny, wicked, open-minded, all-too-much resembling Phryne, who walked on the stage at Lady Bird all those years ago, all pretty and her suit was so nice, and her voice was calling Mac in – nothing more like a memory. Daisy makes Mac want to smile and weep, at once.

 

* * *

 

Mac never saw a girl like Daisy before.

Mac never knew that there were girls like her…

 

Love is a curious, wanting thing.

 

* * *

 

Is it love or isn't it that Mac feels for Daisy?

And how absurd it is that Mac does not even know. Mac has heard about girls falling in love, and she knows what kind of people they are and what they look like. Neither she nor Daisy look like that. Or, so Mac thinks. Yet the way Mac feels about Daisy passes all the tests for love and fits all the descriptions.

 

There is the one thing that Mac wishes for: It is the one thing that takes her apart from Phryne; oh, Mac knows that there are far many things but there is one thing that makes all the differences.

There is one thing without which her happiness in this world seems impossible. The one thing that Phryne calls improbable. However, it remains the truth for Mac: Mac is not born to live alone.

In loving and being loved, Mac can be happy.

Oh, Mac is a modern woman; Mac is an independent woman; Mac is a woman with some means and certainly great mental faculty. Yet, Mac wants a female companion.

When Mac first admits this, her voice becomes a trembling whisper, there is only silence.

Mac opens her eyes and looks at Daisy, and Mac knows at once that Mac should not have spoken. There is a look on Daisy’s face – it is a look of mingled shock, and nervousness, and embarrassment or shame.

Mac has said too much, but it is that or to say nothing at all.

 

Mac’s heart is too full to remain silent.

 

END OF FLASH-BACK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tea" has many readings and interpretations besides the obvious (= a hot beverage). Here, this chapter focus on three metaphors: consent, sex and lesbians. 
> 
> For no.1: 'Consent: Not actually that complicated': "If you’re still struggling [to understand the concept of consent], just imagine instead of initiating sex, you’re making them a cup of tea." (http://rockstardinosaurpirateprincess.com/2015/03/02/consent-not-actually-that-complicated/)
> 
> For no.2: 'Vintage girl + lesbian tea sex': “We are having hot lesbian sex. And by “lesbian sex” we mean tea, but it’s still hot.” (http://victorianlesbian.tumblr.com/post/142194870688/vintage-girl-lesbian-tea-sex-we-are-having). Examples are: 'Tipping the Velvet' (1987/2004), 'The Price of Salt'/'Carol' (1952/2015); 'The Secret Diary of Miss Anne Lister' (1791-1840/2010); Madame Vastra (character from Doctor Who, basically Johnlock in space).
> 
> For no. 3: 'Lesbian tea': "any tea that isn't tea, especially fruit infusions eg raspberry nettle and sukebind tea, also known as differently-oriented tea." (https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=lesbian%20tea)
> 
> Oh, and in case you're wondering: Australia (& New Zealand) is a tad different than UK (who would've thought ;)) Through colonisation by the British, tea was introduced to Australia. Australian tea culture remains very similar to British tea culture. Tea is often offered to guests by the host and small food portions are often served during "morning tea" and "afternoon tea". The main evening meal can be called "tea".

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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